


in your hands

by maderilien



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Helmets, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27496792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maderilien/pseuds/maderilien
Summary: A confrontation leaves Din on the verge of breaking the Code. Thankfully, someone's watching out for him.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Comments: 8
Kudos: 279





	in your hands

**Author's Note:**

> Not me neck-deep in this ship, nu-uh.

His breath cuts off sharply. A distant, metallic thud reaches him as if through a dream—or rather, a nightmare—and dread swallows him whole. Frozen, above the ringing in his ears, he hears his helmet rolling away on the floor, then dropping down the crack in the floor.

Dust and warmth hit the exposed skin of his face, the building still settling down after the explosion. His body aches in multiple places, but it isn’t the pain holding him statuesque on his knees.

A cough shakes him out of his trance and sends him spiralling further into despair. The other  _ ‘mandalorian’ _ was with him moments ago. Did they fall together?

"Hey, are you alive?"

That answers his questions.

He hears him move, listens to the rustle of his leather and the clanking of his armour and he covers his face with his arms. Is this how he breaks the Code? Because of a stray grenade? And in the company of the bounty hunter, no less. 

The dishonor weighs heavily over him.

"Hey, Mando," Boba Fett insists, getting closer.

"Don't—"

Don't look at me? But what other choice does he have, except to give it all up? He needs to save the child, even if he loses his whole identity in the process. The mercenaries already have a good head start as it is, with the delay their grenades caused. Any more and he fears the child will be out of reach.

"Here," the bounty hunter drawls, voice to the point of boredom.

He hasn't gathered enough strength to turn around yet. He tries to,  _ thinks _ it, but his body stays rooted to the spot.

A hint of green hovers in the periphery of his visual field. He recoils. How long since the last person saw him unmasked? The years blended into each other; countless missions and targets and hopping from planet to planet. Like a storm out at sea, his thoughts crash into each other in his mind, waves spurred on by violent winds. He needs to turn, to move. Deal with the fall-out later. This is how it ends for him, but he can’t let it end for the child.

The bounty hunter waits for him to make the next move. "My eyes are closed," he says, and that's strange, his voice sounds clear and unobstructed—

He turns his head around just a fraction.

Boba Fett's helmet looks back at him emptily, held at an arm's length away from the bounty hunter himself.

They don't have time to dawdle like this, yet the moment seems to stretch on forever as he touches the edge of the helmet and takes it in his hands. It feels heavier than ever and so,  _ so _ alien despite him having carried this armour with him for weeks before the bounty hunter made contact. He swipes his thumb over the dent on the forehead, above the visor, and twists it around. It's almost like he's watching someone else's hands move and bring the helmet over his head, but once the familiar pressure of the padding encapsulates his head and ears and covers his face, he breathes out in relief.

The weight on his shoulders turns into a singular feather, blown away by the wind.

"Let's get a move on," Boba Fett grunts, passing him by roughly.

"Thank you," he says. Is the gratitude clear enough in his voice, he wonders?

The bounty hunter stops for a second and looks over his shoulder, a hint of his profile visible. Some sort of understanding passes between them, silent but tangible almost, then the bounty hunter moves on ahead.

He stares emptily at the space Boba Fett vacated. The unfamiliar helmet is stuffy, not a perfect fit. Heat is trapped around his neck and hugging his cheeks. He’ll have to get used to it before he can—if ever—recover his own lost in the rubble.

Until then, there is work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stop thinking about mandalorians and their creed and helmets and the amount of yearning and tenderness you can fit in it all! AHH


End file.
